


As long as we're going down (baby you should stick around)

by Cras



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dark Humor, M/M, Peter has some weird feelings too, Pre-Slash, Slow Burn, actions speak louder than words, everybody has feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3855835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cras/pseuds/Cras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'If I'd known, I would have hatched a plan,' says Derek, disheveled, his breath coming out in little puffs, and Stiles sincerely does his best not to laugh right in his face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As long as we're going down (baby you should stick around)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song 'Dark Doo Wop' by MS MR.  
> The title is taken from it.  
> Check it out.

'If I'd known, I would have hatched a plan,' says Derek, disheveled, his breath coming out in little puffs, and Stiles sincerely does his best not to laugh right in his face. He can't keep silent, though.

'Something other than a 'hunt the thing down, tear it apart, almost die in the process, and then declare that I'm the alpha' plan? You're making progress, Derek, really. You deserve a golden star.'

Scott looks awed and frightened and a bit hysterical at this, so Stiles shuts up. He doesn't get Derek's reaction, because the older guy just turns his back on them and vanishes in a couple of seconds down the stairs. Peter tsks and shakes his head.

'Scott, if you please, we have an issue to attend to. Stiles, stand here and just try to pretend you are a wall.'

Now Scott looks outright wary and uncomfortable, but he follows Peter's instructions.

Stiles watches them absent-mindedly, but for him the room feels empty anyway.

\---

Stiles's body, it seems, has trained itself to react to Derek's presence on its own, without Stiles realizing it. He still jumps in the air and flails and grabs his chest every time he sees a dark shape in the corner of his room which has not been there just a moment ago, though it's more of a habit now than from a real fright. This is Stiles's brain trying to flip the instinct of self-preservation on, whereas his body has aligned itself to Derek's, reacting and mirroring and moving closer. Derek's proximity is enough for Stiles to get achingly aware of his own body, like he is larger than life and more fragile than a human should be, both at the same time. Stiles has never realized how someone else's presence can weigh on you, directing and grounding you, and still making you feel light-headed and floaty.

Stiles also has never realized before that you can be aware of someone else's absence just as much.

\---

'That's my man,' Peter nods, a small satisfied smirk playing on his lips. He looks normal, and for a second Stiles feels sorry for Derek, because Derek sees the difference anyway.

'I'm not your man,' Derek nonchalantly cuts off, palms splayed on the blueprint in front of him. Stiles fears for the paper - it took him ages to find those, and if Derek rips them even an inch, the whole plan will be fucked.

'Whose, then?' Peter asks softly.

Stiles makes a move as if to pick up his phone from the table and topples down the nearest cup of coffee. The bluerprints are soaked through in seconds - even werewolves' reactions don't save them, and everybody votes for sending Stiles on the couch. He spends the rest of the meeting there, playing on his phone, putting in snarky remarks from time to time, and ignoring the heat where Derek's fingers brushed against his neck when he passed by.

\---

Stiles wonders why everyone sticks around even when everything goes to shit. They argue and growl and bite back, they storm off and bang the doors shut, they get themselves hurt and nearly killed. Hell, Peter definitely got himself killed and still came back. Stiles is impressed somewhere deep down. They seem to have their reasons - power, support, revenge, duty. But Stiles wonders if there's something else, a driver they don't realize or acknowledge.

Then he is distracted by a pack of omegas in their town. Stiles didn't know it was possible - the term was contradictory itself, but Peter enlightened them on the topic when he returned from three weeks of absence. Nobody asks where he has been or what he did there. Stiles is sure he has his fair share of nightmares that is more than enough.

'They unite for a certain amount of time - usually for a couple of weeks - when they have an emergency. It gives them strength and protection. On the basic level - virtually, they are not a pack, but still it's better than nothing,' Peter shrugs and looks at Derek.

Derek slightly tips his head back, not breaking the eye contact with Peter.

'Why are they here? What is their emergency?'

Peter turns away, picks up a book from a windowsill and starts leafing through it, quietly humming something to himself. Stiles groans and reaches past Derek for a laptop.

'OK, Miss Marple, do we have at least their names?'

Peter turns and smiles that little smile of his, amused and sharp. He doesn't even have to open his mouth to say it out loud, that bastard. 

Dragging the laptop in his lap, Stiles bumps his left elbow against Derek's arm, or it is Derek who does it, he can't tell. Peter watches him closely as if waiting for him to speak, but Stiles just clears his throat and opens a new tab in the browser. 

Five days later, they face those omegas - three guys and one girl - barely outside the city line, having caught them in their lair. They were packing their things, stacks and stacks of cash on makeshift beds, and Stiles had a moment to recollect the fact his Dad had mentioned this morning when he set off to work - something about several bank robberies in the town, which looked like part of a series of crimes disturbing this area of the country. 

Peter is not here, of course - and Stiles, as impressed by the whole shenanigan as he may be, feels almost obliged to make a vaguely insulting remark concerning the omegas' intelligence and performance on his behalf. Stiles's initial plan was to sort everything out like the grown-ups they are. You know, reach a mutual agreement, politely show them the way out. In the end, Stiles is glad he brought his bat. 

They are good fighters - experienced, fierce, with the edge so characteristic of omegas. At first, Stiles can't place the wrongness he feels in their movements, until one of the werewolves runs right towards him, his eyes trained on Stiles's frame. Erica appears somewhere from the left, her blond hair a flash in front of Stiles's eyes, as she lifts her clawed hand aiming for the guy's neck. Stiles surges to the right, swinging his bat and bringing it hard on the omega's left knee, and it's like something has switched on in its head. 

They are good fighters alright - but separate, focused on their counterparts, and oblivious to their partners. Now he understands Peter who talked about them not being a real pack. Stiles squeezes Erica's elbow and nods first towards the exit, then Derek. She gives him a toothy grin and jumps back in the fight. She and Boyd lure the omegas outside, while Stiles hastily whispers his plan to Derek and Isaac. It takes them seven minutes to implement it, forty minutes to wrap everything up, and almost two hours to get to the loft and finally crash on the couch. 

Somehow Stiles has never had a sleepover at Derek's, but then the decision was made for him - Derek tossed the keys from his Camaro to Boyd and strode over to Stiles's Jeep to stand by the driver's door and look at Stiles expectantly. It takes Stiles several seconds to process the view and understand what Derek wants. He groans.

'Oh no, you must be joking. Why do you want to get to drive my car when I don't get to drive yours?'

Derek just snorted at that and extended his hand. 

'Stiles. The keys.'

‘Persuasive as ever. Irresistible. What a speech, seriously.’

Anyway, Stiles was too tired to argue - he headed for the trunk, tucked the bat away and, having rummaged about it for a minute, fished out a bundle to fling at Derek. 

Derek unpacked it somewhat gingerly and took out a dark green t-shirt. The nasty look he gave Stiles was worth the shopping with Danny and all the glances they got from the shop assistants. 

'This do fit,' proclaimed Stiles in his best Spanish accent and climbed on the passenger seat.

He really tried not to ogle. 

Now, when Stiles is sandwiched between Isaac and Derek, he feels wide awake. He twitches and fidgets, trying not to press hard against Derek's chest and having Isaac grunt at him several times in the process. Finally, Derek catches both Stiles's hands in his and demonstrates his best death grip and death glare. 

'Really, Stiles. This is your t-shirt, you can drool on it as much as you want.'

Stiles is gratified that Erica is already fast asleep, otherwise she would hold it against him forever. Derek seems a bit surprised that there's no answer from Stiles, but he doesn't let go of Stiles's hands anyway. 

'Cheesy,' mumbles Stiles after a couple of minutes and relaxes into the heat, letting himself drown in it.

\---  
Peter starts to spend more time with the pack. He still rubs Stiles the wrong way, but Derek doesn’t do any move to kick Peter out. Stiles keeps an eye on him just in case.

One day, when Derek is down training the pups (they whine that they don’t need it anymore, but Derek is adamant on this point), and Stiles is alone in the kitchen making coffee (yes, he likes to live dangerously), Peter strides in. He hums in greeting and opens the fridge, digging into the section with vegetables. Stiles reminds himself for the umpteenth time that this is his life now. 

'Shouldn't you be, like, all over the meat? Like, as a main course, second course, a yummy meaty dessert?'

Werewolves and their diet. To be more exact, its absence. 

'Shouldn't you be all over the camomile tea instead of coffee, Stiles?' Peter retorts, his hands loaded with cucumbers and tomatoes. Somehow he manages to be intimidating like this. Stiles is a bit jealous because he is often not taken seriously even when armed with a blood-stained bat.

'Fair point,' he shrugs and reaches for the milk, never letting Peter out of his sight. 

'So. How's it going? You going on a killing spree, planning taking over the pack, stuff like that? What’s your game of thrones?' Stiles puts the carton aside and wiggles his fingers. 

He doesn't see it coming when suddenly he is crowded against the counter, its edge painfully cutting into the small of his back. He yelps and knocks down the carton with milk on the counter as Peter presses himself against Stiles’s front and buries his nose in the crook of Stiles’s neck. Stiles tries to push Peter away but it’s like moving a very strong and determined on not moving mountain. He can hear Peter inhaling deeply.

He was enlightened on some werewolves’ habits (‘kinks’, as he called them to himself), like scenting, bonding, and physical need to touch the hell out of others, and got pretty used to them with time since he never had a problem with being touchy-feely, but it’s Peter who never showed any sign of them. Stiles feels his heartbeat skyrocketing and attempts to calm his breath down.

‘Houston, do we have a problem? Houston? Oh god,’ Stiles makes himself unclench his hands he braced against the counter, slowly lifts them and awkwardly pats Peter on the back.

Some small part of Stiles’s brain wonders whether Derek will somehow sense what the fuck is going on in his kitchen and come and rescue him in all his grumpy glory. Another small part registers that if Peter gets to his carotid artery it will take Derek literally days to clean the kitchen from all the blood. 

He almost misses the moment when the muscles of Peter’s back start relaxing. He more feels than hears Peter muttering something against his neck, and it’s so uncharacteristic of Peter who always makes himself heard no matter whether you want to listen to him or not, that Stiles just can’t. 

‘Peter? Can you repeat it?’ he asks softly, his hands on Peter’s back.

Peter shuffles his feet, rearranging his weight. This time Stiles can hear him just fine.

‘It’s still burning. It’s going to burn forever. Burn, burn, burn.’

Stiles thinks that he can understand what Peter is talking about if he wants to. But he doesn’t.

They let themselves to stand like that for a while.

\---

After that time in the kitchen Peter disappears. Derek says that he has some business in the north of the country and they won’t see him for a couple of months. He also presents Stiles with one of his own t-shirts, claiming with the pained expression, as if he can’t believe what he is doing, that the one Stiles gave him was ruined in the fight with a troll. Stiles can hear Erica laugh heartily somewhere upstairs but decides to ignore it. The t-shirt is plain gray, with no logos or quotes, but Stiles loves it fiercely the moment he sees it and wears it at home five days straight in a row.

\---  
Stiles’s college summer break comes to an end. Fortunately, all the monsters and weirdoes of Beacon Hills are seemingly getting ready for studies, too, because it’s quiet and blissful and the pack is having a movie night with pizza and popcorn, Scott and Allison are here, too, what can be better? Stiles is pressed side by side with Derek on the couch, because everybody knows that the third of Stiles’s popcorn lands in the lap of his neighbor (as well as some of Stiles’ limbs), and Derek is always the last one to find a good seat. He grumbles and sighs and flicks popcorn back at Stiles (when he thinks that Stiles doesn’t see it), but he doesn’t change the place.

They watch the film and there’s this car race over which Boyd and Scott have a heated argument about. Everybody is so astonished that they decide to go out and try to repeat some of the tricks, Allison and Erica being their referees. Even Isaac looks interested. Derek says drily that the titles ‘do not repeat, it’s dangerous for your life’ were invented just for them, so he stays home. Stiles is too full to go anywhere - he waves the excited company away and sprawls on the couch with a happy sigh. He notices that he’s alone only after a few minutes. Stiles gives a full-stretch and murmurs:

‘Derek?’ 

‘Here.’

Stiles sits up with a grunt and squints at Derek, who is standing in front of the huge window looking out over the town. The sun has just started setting, giving out the last it got for today, and the whole room is lit with it, every object illuminated and dream-like. Derek looks unreal – faded, too, with his frame just a dark shadow against the light. An uneasy feeling settles down at the pit of Stiles’s stomach as he scrambles to his feet and rushes over to Derek.

Derek turns to meet him, his eyebrows shooting up at Stiles’s haste. The sunset light is crossing the plane of his nose, playing on his bare arms, and the color moves with the skin, marking it, claiming it and making it almost red, making it the color of a dying fire. 

Stiles wants to scream. Stiles wants to kiss this color away. Stiles doesn’t want to understand, but he understands.

Derek’s expression changes in a moment from mildly surprised to extremely worried as he reaches for Stiles’s shoulders and grabs them. Stiles has a dispassionate thought that he’ll have bruises by tomorrow.

‘Stiles, are you-’

Stiles doesn’t let him finish. He throws his arms around Derek’s neck and swings their bodies, so now he stands with his back to the window, keeping the fire at bay.

This is stupid and irrational and it should be laughed away but he holds tight.

Derek hesitates but hugs him back, his nose pressing into Stiles’s hair, a low rumbling sound in his chest. For Stiles it’s like the earth itself is breaking and falling, but he has never felt safer. He doesn’t know how long they have been standing like this but he is slowly coming to his senses, the sounds of the town and their breathing tuning back in. He realizes that the pack is just about to come back and unclasps his hands, awkward chuckle ready to escape his lips. 

He freezes when Derek softly huffs in his ear, never breaking the embrace.

‘Wanna stick around?’

Stiles has a vague feeling that Derek asks not about one more movie but he has one answer for everything anyway. He gives a nod.

‘Yeah. I will.’


End file.
